Epiphany

I was driving home tonight, and everything was incredibly beautiful. There were grey thunderheads breaking up the blue of the sky so that the fields and mountains were alternately the bright green of spring and deep green of summer in the resulting patches of sun and shadow. It was so grand and stunning and I don't know why, but that picture postcard of why I love it here made me think about what "here" lacks. And that in turn made me realize why I felt so off, and, just a little bit, lonely after last weekend's wedding. And it had nothing to do with feeling judged, or feeling inadequate, or missing anyone in particular.

So here is the epiphany, and it's a pretty basic one really: What I miss, and what I got a taste of last weekend, is simply being around people I know, who know me. I don't particularly like new people, I don't like new friends. I love being around people with whom I share a past, any kind of past, and I don't have that any more. I've given that up to be closer to my family, to live in the most beautiful place I've ever seen. I'm socializing, I'm meeting people, but I can't picture what they were like 4 or 8 or 16 years ago. They have no history. I see them as they are now. Their image is crisp and unblurred by my memories of them as they used to be. They don't know that I once inappropriately reminded someone of his ex-wife, and I don't know what any of their old crushes look like. I've never seen them nearly comatose with overwork or commiserated when they got a bad grade or review. They don't know or care that I used to be near the top of my class, that there was a brief moment in time I could actually keep up with the drinkiest of them in alcohol consumption, that I once simultaneously dated two horrifically nerdy men on law review. We don't know the same stories about the same people. We haven't choked with laughter and powdered sugar, spent hours and hours together in dark theaters or too-bright libraries, eaten hungover brunches with our sunglasses on. And chances are, we never will. Because I don't particularly like new people, which makes creating new old friends difficult.

I miss an assortment of individuals very much. Some of them read this blog. But I'm not afraid of never seeing them again. I know I will. One at a time, or in small groups. Certainly it won't be as often as I'd like, but I can get on a plane and make it happen. So what nearly broke me. What made it impossible for me to just close my eyes and go to sleep after the wedding reception was over. What made me call and text old friends in the middle of the night begging them to keep me company: this wedding was probably the last chance I'll have, for a very long time, to be with a critical mass of very familiar people. I gave that up when I moved to the middle of Idaho. And I miss that more than I miss any one of my friends.

Stupid Colds, Wireless, and Meth Addicts

The wedding was really lovely. (Wait, did I even tell you I was going to a wedding? Well, I did, last weekend, in Denver. Now you're all caught up.) The bride and groom glowed, the sun shone, and I got to hug and chat with people I really care for. But it left me a little wobbly. Not the wedding, I think I'm beyond being discombobulated by people getting married, but being around the people I used to have so much in common with. Not my dear friends, seeing them was grand, but those others. The ones on the periphery of my old life, who measure their own success in pay checks and status. Not that I feel judged by them. Perhaps they do judge, but I jumped out of their race long before I left law school, and I don't feel it. But for some reason seeing them still left me feeling off my game. A little unhinged, maybe even depressed. And I'd planned to write a long post all about how wobbly I felt, and why the very fact that they could throw me off even a little freaked me out to an insane degree, but first I had to recover from a weekend of no sleep. And then my wireless stopped working. And then I got a bruiser of a cold. So now I can just make myself sit upright in a not so comfortable chair tethered to my ethernet cable long enough to say: fuck you, meth addicts. CoAdvil used to be a right, not a privilege. I used to be able to pick it up at any old convenience store. But now, to get a little relief, I have to drive all the way into town, and even at the grocery store I have to stand in line at the customer service counter, which is never adequately staffed, behind all the people waiting to cash checks and send money by Western Union, and then show picture ID and sign my name and address in a little book like I'm trying to get into Sing Sing to see some no-good named Bobby-Ray. And who has the energy to do that while fighting a cold? You've ruined a good thing you selfish jerks.

I'm going back to the couch and a Jeeves and Wooster DVD.

Real Life Intrudes

Life has gotten a little vicariously soap-operatic lately. Not to be annoyingly cryptic, but my best stories right now aren't entirely mine so I'm having a bit of blog-block as I try to figure out how to tell them without, well, screwing a friend in case someone accidentally stumbles on this blog.

Everything in my life is completely lovely, in case anyone was worried, including the weather (the snow is TOTALLY GONE!) and I'm looking forward to spending Memorial Day weekend in Denver celebrating a wedding with friends. There's no progress on the job front, recent cryptic events have made me even more thrilled to be embracing spinsterhood (Zach and I keep describing our lovely days to each other (walks in the woods! a new recipe! entire books read while sitting in the sunshine! and ending with "and I didn't get divorced OR have an affair today!"), and the cats are driving me insane with their spring energy. Tulips are blooming, the aspens are leafing, fields are this amazing neon green following yesterday's rain . . . and I have new anecdotes to share as soon as I feel the urge to write again. The only truly unpleasant thing that's happened recently was discovering three rotting cow carcases on yesterday's walk. And you didn't really need/want to know that did you?

I'll try to get back to posting on a semi-regular basis next week. I miss it. Even when I don't know what the hell to say because it seems like nothing changes. (Which at this point is NOT a complaint. When life is this good, a lack of variety in my life is boring only to the poor people who have to hear me say "Yeah, no, nothing new! Sorry!")

Foxes, elk and hummingbirds oh my!

What a great day. This morning when I looked out my window as I waited for the kettle to boil, I saw three long-legged foxes hunting voles. This evening, as I was checking out the sunset, I noticed a small group of elk calmly snacking on the ever-greening grass.

In between? I saw my first hummingbird of the season. I put out the feeders so hopefully I'll see many more. Feeling the spring sunshine on my bare toes I was inspired. I spent the afternoon watering and weeding flower beds, picking up little pieces of trash that had been covered by the snow, sitting in a canvas chair outside reading a book as half a dozen different birdsongs filled my ears. It's finally, FINALLY spring in the mountains and it is truly glorious.

Is it just me, or does it feel like all is wrong with the world?

This global food crisis is freaking me the hell out. I just read part two of the Washington Post's excellent series on the subject, and then, sobbing, headed immediately to a website to make what feels like a paltry contribution to the UN World Food Program. Did I mention I'm sobbing at the spa? It's really slow today, so there are no customers here to watch me turn red-eyed over a man trying, in vain, to sell his family's last goat. Stories like this make me feel like my whole life, everything I do, is one big self-indulgent waste of resources. In other words, do not read the Washington Post series without your wallet handy, or you too will be reduced to feeling like the world is in the process of ending and there's nothing whatsoever you can do about it.